The Last Knight of Autumn
by Tekomandor
Summary: The Girl Who Lived met a wounded stranger in a playground, and suddenly the world was never the same again. Slightly edited version of the Quest on SV, no pairings (they're eleven!). This is an AU fic with heavy Dresden Files elements, although the appearance of any mortal characters in unlikely.
1. The Girl Who Lived

**The Last Knight of Autumn:**

 **Chapter One: The Girl Who Lived**

At one precise moment in time, two things happened. The first was perhaps the most momentous event that would ever go by completely unnoticed, whilst the second would inspire men to murder and ruin. It is ironic then, that the second event was by far the more benign.

On the thirty first of July, nineteen eighty, a baby girl opened her eyes. Named for her grandmother, who had died of dragon-sickness only a year prior, she would become a critical piece in the conflict tearing apart magical Britain. She would be known as 'The Girl Who Lived', the first of many appellations. In their villages and alleys, magical folk cheered her name long into the night.

Even in the various realms beyond our own, her name was whispered. Things long since barred from the world above gathered in their meeting places, talking of the impossible girl. In the dark fortress of Nurmengard, Europe's most infamous dark lord himself heard of the news; even through the most secure wards ever fashioned.

Euphemia Potter knew none of this. She was certainly not an ordinary ten year old girl, that much she was certain about, but she certainly didn't know exactly how extraordinary she was. She was just an unwanted, unloved orphan after all. She wasn't forced to wear Dudley's cast-offs anymore, but her clothes certainly weren't new. She was never starved, but never served like even her aunt Petunia was. Yes, she knew she wasn't special in the eyes of her alleged guardians well enough.

She currently sat in a rather dismal playground, taking shelter from the rain. She'd get in trouble if she let her hair - long, black and utterly untameable - or clothes wet. Not something one could really avoid when living in England, but then Euphemia had never actually seen any proof that her relatives were possessed of an ounce of common sense, so perhaps that could be excused.

She sat in the poorly painted tunnel, thankful that the local crowd of delinquents was very much of the Privet Drive mould and hadn't taken to using it as a toilet. The rain continued to pour down, and she simply waited there. That was until she heard one fateful cry for help, and leapt out into the rain.

"Help me! Please, you must help me!" Came a young girl's cry.

There, in the playground, sat a young girl. She wore clothes of glittering bronze, torn and ripped in places. Her skin and hair were the colours of autumn leaves, and thick bronze ichor dripped from her wounds. Euphemia rushed over to her, taking the girl into her arms. She felt warm ichor trickle through her fingers, and wanted nothing more in that moment to save this wonderful, impossible girl.

"Please, tell me how?" Euphemia cried out, tears welling in her eyes.

"You must - cough - take it. I will not - cough - last long without you." She said, offering up her bloodied hand. In a moment, her ichorous blood began to congeal into a familiar shape. It was a sword, made from what looked to be bronze, and looked much too big for her. Confidant that she needn't engage in any sword fights to save the girl, however, Euphemia took it. Nothing happened.

"What else do I need to do?" She asked, desperately.

"A drop of blood, upon the channel in the center of the blade, is needed." The girl said, and Euphemia showed no sign of hesitation. She brought her palm to the blade, cut, and let her blood fall into the centre of the blade.

There was a roar of thunder, the scent of autumn leaves and the flash of lightning. Euphemia felt suddenly light headed, and only just managed to stay on her feet, as the girl disappeared in a flutter of autumn leaves. She felt, rather than heard, a comforting voice from the sword as it transformed into a hairpin.

 _"Thank you, dear girl. I was in rather a spot of danger there, and you've provided me with quite the out. No need to worry, I've just taken up residency in what is for the moment a rather fancy hairpin_." The girl said, though there was no sound to be heard.

Euphemia smiled at the thought. She'd actually helped someone! If even someone like her could do some good, then that was proof that the Dursleys were wrong. She knew they were, of course, but sometimes when things got especially bad she... doubted. No - she wasn't going to let the Dursleys ruin her good mood.

The rain had slowed, but Euphemia still rushed for cover. She moved with surprising speed, and ended up tripping over her own feet and landing face first in the mud. Soaked and utterly dirty, she had nothing to do but hope that whatever strange abilities she had included the ability to clean herself by magic.

Somehow, during her short walk back to number twelve Euphemia found herself perfectly clean; without ever noticing it had happened. The girl who was currently a hairpin hidden in Euphemia's pocket hadn't said anything on the whole walk; other than claiming that she was sleepy.

She made it back with only a moderate soaking, and managed to slip back inside the Dursley household without being noticed. Aunt Petunia was asleep on the couch, with what could theoretically be described as a gin and tonic sitting half drunk on the coffee table. It might be more accurate to call the drink gin with a bit of lime in it, and in Euphemia's experience of unpaid maid duties for the Dursley's that was about as weak as Petunia ever had them.

Not that Euphemia could blame her, of course. The woman was _married_ to Vernon, and had perhaps the most unpleasant child in all England. It didn't excuse her behaviour towards Euphemia, in her eyes, but it did excuse Petunia's liking for a stiff drink.

Euphemia slinked back into her cupboard, managing to fit herself into it's tiny frame only barely. One of these days she'd need to take over somewhere else, because she was taller than Dudley now and could barely fit into the closet. In it she found the oddest thing she'd seen all day - which was really saying something.

A letter, in an old fashioned parchment envelope, sat waiting for her on her mattress. Her name was written in loopy handwriting on the outside, and sat above a wax seal showing a badger, a lion, a raven, and a snake. Euphemia felt the hairpin shift around in her pocket, until a tiny girl not an inch high climbed out.

"Well, open will you! I'm dying of anticipation over here." She said, her voice somewhat higher pitched than before.

"But you were a- how did yo-?" Euphemia said, her words all running into one another.

"You _did_ see me transform into a sword and then a hairpin, I should point out. Is this any odder?"The girl asked.

"No, I suppose it isn't. You haven't told me your name, by the way."

"No, I don't believe I have. You can call me Septima, for now. And get back to opening it!" Septima shouted. Euphemia raised her hands in surrender and opened the letter. It told a fantastical tale, but one Euphemia was entirely willing to believe after everything that had happened to her in the past hour. Wands, flying broomsticks, and an iron circle for summoning fairies?

All eminently believable. Septima looked worried when she came to the iron circle, however.

"Oh how horrible. I see you mortals haven't changed a bit since I was last here."

"What's wrong?" Euphemia asked.

"Oh, it's nothing. You might have a bit of trouble with the iron circle now, though." Septima said, suddenly shifting from melancholy to scholarly inquiry in a microsecond.

"Why would I have trouble with it?" Euphemia said, a puzzled look on her face.

"Well, I suppose you haven't really noticed it yet. Just try not to carry any iron on your bare skin, and you should be fine."

"What? What'll happen to me if I touch it?" She almost shouted.

"Oh, nothing really. You'll just stop being connected to me for a bit, that's all. Try not to do it in the middle of a life and death situation." Before Euphemia could respond, the doorbell rang. From her vantage point in her cupboard, Euphemia could see what had to be a woman in a pointed hat waiting outside the door.

"Septima, do you want to be kept secret?" Euphemia asked her tiny friend. She almost started at the thought - did she really have a _friend_? It seemed like she did, which was an entirely new development.

"That would be a good idea, dear." She said, and then she was a hairpin again. Euphemia blinked, then pocketed the hairpin. She was still confused about the exact mechanics of it all - did Septima become the hairpin sword, or was she simply residing in it? Euphemia had no idea, and suspected the answer would give her a headache.

She opened the door to her cupboard, and walked in what she thought was a confidant manner towards the door. It seemed to just swing open by itself, and a woman in a very odd outfit stepped forward. Well, odd for a normal everyday person. It looked positively conformist for a witch. Which perhaps was the point, Euphemia thought.

"Hello, Miss Potter. I see you've already read your letter." She said, her face giving the hint of a smile.

"Y-yeah, I have. So there are schools for people like me - well, like us?" Euphemia asked, smiling brightly. Surely somewhere like that had to be light years better than Privet Drive or Stonewall. Though she hoped they didn't expect the Dursleys to pay for anything - but then they'd known she'd slept in a cupboard, so they'd have to be pretty thick to hope for that.

"Yes, there are. I must say, Miss Potter, that your reaction to this has been incredibly refreshing. Why, you've yet to even ask me to prove magic exists."

"Thank you ma'am, but I worked that one out a while ago. Um, is it bad to tell magic people your name or something" Euphemia asked.

"Only your full and true name from your own lips. I've been dreadfully rude in not introducing myself, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall; a teacher of transfiguration at Hogwarts." The stately woman said, as she offered Euphemia her hand.

"Nice to meet you Professor. I'm Euphemia Potter." The girl in question said she shook the professor's hand lightly.

"You have a very tight grip, Miss Potter. Now, where are your... guardians? I wish to speak to them." She said, her voice light yet carrying bucketfuls of menace.

"Uh... my Aunt is in the living room, and my Uncle is upstairs. What should I do until you're finished, professor?" Euphemia asked.

"Just wait right here Miss Potter, and get ready for a day trip." The professor said, before pointing a long, intricately carved stick at the cupboard under the stairs. It flew right off it's hinges, only to halt in mid-air right in front of Euphemia. Then, with a wave of her now softly glowing wand, she promptly transformed the hated door into a cushy armchair.

"Wicked..." Euphemia muttered, and she'd have sworn McGonagall gave her a sad smile for just an instant.

"Wicked indeed, Miss Potter. Do be ready to go by the time I return." She said, and turned away. Her cloak billowed impressively, even there was no wind to found inside Number Four, Privet Drive. _'So. Cool.'_ thought Euphemia, vowing to herself that she would one day master that trick of magic. She quickly gathered what little she would need, which was basically just socks and shoes. The armchair was nice enough for her not to think too hard about why she couldn't hear anything from the living room.

"Very well, Miss Potter, we shall be off. Walk with me to the curb, and I shall take us to Diagon Alley to do your school shopping"

"About that, professor. I don't exactly have the money to pay for this stuff." Euphemia said timidly.

"Nonsense! Why, James and Lily Potter leaving their only child nothing in the world? Absolute hogwash. Let alone the reward money for - well, that I should explain." And so she did, explaining to Euphemia about Voldemort, about how her parents really died, and about how she was one of the most famous witches in the entire wizarding world. Euphemia simply sat there, stunned. McGonagall gave her some time, then they were off into the street.

One minute they were in Privet Drive, then they were in a deserted London alleyway. Euphemia took some time to realise that however, as she was rather occupied with trying not to throw up her meagre breakfast.

"How - wha?" She said, still very confused about the whole thing.

"That was called apparition. You will learn it in your final years at Hogwarts, if you can get your license. Now follow me and be quick about it, because I have five other students to visit today." McGonagall said, and began to walk rapidly out into the street. Nobody gave her any odd looks, or even noticed her at all which seemed very odd to Euphemia. She tried to keep up, and was generally successful.

The duo soon reached a dingy old pub, named 'The Leaky Cauldron'. This again seemed very obvious to Euphemia, who voiced that concern to the professor.

"Muggles don't see it. Charms like that are very important to keeping the magical and non-magical worlds separate." McGonagall explained. Euphemia nodded, and followed the professor into the pub. She shook her head, letting her hair cover her scar, and remembered how famous the professor had said she was. Best not to draw that kind of attention, she thought.

The Leaky Cauldron wasn't as decrepit on the inside as on the outside, but it was close. Still, the self-washing plates and animated teapots whizzing around the tables were more like her idea of magic. It looked like it was too early in the day for the bartender to be serving alcohol, and the various patrons seemed to be finishing up their breakfast.

"Another muggle-born, eh Minerva?" The barkeep asked, looking up from the regiment of dishes cleaning themselves in a sink.

"The first for the day, Tom. We'll be back around noon." She replied.

"I'll hold the usual table for 'ya. Well, good luck to you Miss - you're in good hands." The barkeep finished, and went back to looking over his dishes. The professor walked briskly through the pub, and Euphemia followed closely behind. They emerged into a rather shabby courtyard, and Euphemia was about to say something, but the professor simply told her to listen and watch closely.

With a few taps of her wand, the dingy wall opened up into a grand doorway. What lay beyond it was an almost indescribable cavalcade of sights and sounds and smells. It simply screamed magic, and Euphemia beamed as she got her first look at Diagon Alley.

Euphemia had a lot of gold in her vault. In fact, that did the amount a disservice. If she were so inclined, she could probably go swimming in it - although that would both hurt and mess up the carefully stacked piles. That might annoy the goblins, who seemed to be a very serious and taciturn lot. Who were also apparently in the possession of a dragon. Septima had told her it wasn't a _real_ dragon, but the fire breathing monster she'd spotted a glimpse of had seemed awfully real to her.

She left not feeling particularly happy to have a mound of gold, after she'd remembered why she had one. Euphemia was sure she'd trade away all the gold and silver in her vault to have her parents back, no matter how appealing the thought of swimming in money might be.

They emerged from the murky depths of Gringotts and stepped back into the light of Diagon Alley.

"Now that you have your gold, I shall go ahead and purchase your potions supplies, textbooks, and summoning supplies. You, meanwhile, shall purchase your wand and supplies for other foci. After that, I shall take you to get your robes and then back to Flourish and Blotts if you wish it. Our final stop shall be Eeylops' Owl emporium, for the purchase of a familiar. If we have time after that, we shall have lunch in the Leaky Cauldron before your return home. Do not wander off, Miss Potter, no matter how wondrous a shop display might look." She said, sternly, as Euphemia withdrew her Hogwarts letter.

"Yes, professor!" Euphemia said, brimming with excitement. She was soon outside Ollivander's Wands & Foci, which had apparently been in business since Three Hundred and Eighty Two _BC!_ Euphemia felt a sense of reverence as she entered the rickety old shop, her eyes bulging at all the various implements of magic on display in the window. There were dozens upon dozens of slim wooden wands, each intricately carved. There were huge staffs and metal rods and amulets and even robes, though they seemed very old indeed.

There was a chime as she entered the deserted storefront, and she stared some more before an old man, dressed in a style that was nonsensical even for wizards, entered from the back.

"Ah, Miss - no _Ser_ Potter. It has been a very, very long time since one of your kind stepped into my shop; Septima." He said, bowing as he did so. "But I suspect it is the Knight I am here to serve today, not the Lady. Though I do hope you understand what is required of you, now that you've taken a Witch as a Knight?" Ollivander said. He nodded, then turned to Euphemia.

"What are you talk-" She began, but Ollivander shushed her. Several flying tape measures flew all around her, and he peered at her through crystal spectacles.

"I suppose I should have known. What is your wand hand, Ser Potter?" He asked, whilst putting away the flying tape measures.

"Uh, I... I'm ambidextrous, Mister Ollivander. Why are you calling me that?" Euphemia asked, suddenly very concerned.

"Because I have retained the Sight, long since the passing of the Veil. But that is a topic for an older time, and you have come here to purchase a wand." He said, confusing Euphemia even more, then he clicked his fingers and a box flew towards him. It was caked in dust, and made from thick cast iron.

He placed the box down on a spindly table, and spoke a few words in a foreign language. The lid of the box seemed to recede into the sides, and there was a hiss of stale air. Inside it lay a wand of pale wood, long and thin. Runes entirely different from any she'd seen so far coiled around it's wooden exterior. It's handle was curved, elegant bronze.

"There could be no other wand for you, my dear. For the champion of Abseelie, there could only be one wand. It was first worked upon before the fall of the Roman Empire, and I never dreamed that I would be the one to hand it out. Before you take it, your Lady must deliver the final ingredient. Just a drop should suffice." Ollivander said, and Septima appeared in the form I'd first seen her in.

She put her left hand over the box, and drew her right index finger along her palm. A single, ichorous drop of bronze coloured blood dropped out before the wound closed, and it seemed to sink into the wand with only the faint smell of burnt ozone. Ollivander nodded, and Septima disappeared once more.

"Yew, thirteen inches. A core of thestral hair and a lining of Autumn bronze. A most powerful wand, Ser Potter, and one that is most involved with the end of things." He said solemnly, looking her straight in the eye for the first time.

"The end of things?" Euphemia questioned.

"Entropy and destruction. There will be no charge for the wand, since I am merely delivering a commission two millennia late." Ollivander said, and then he simply vanished with a pop. On the table where the iron box lay was a small, wooden case labeled _'Hogwarts Kit, First Year'_. Euphemia opened it, to try and take her mind off what had just happened, and saw an array of fine tools and sealed boxes.

She closed the kit and looked into the iron box.

"Well, Septima? What's going on?" Euphemia asked.

 _'More than I knew, apparently. That any would still remember the old forms of address, after all this time...'_ She replied, as Euphemia caught sight of a sign she could have sworn wasn't there a minute ago. It was old, very old, and in what looked like latin, Yet Euphemia could understand it just fine, as the letters seemed to shift and change. It read, _'Accorded Neutral Territory'_.

Euphemia made up her mind, and plunged her hand into the iron box; careful not to touch the sides. She picked the yew wand up, and felt power surge through her. There was the smell of burnt ozone, and a bolt of orange-red lightning shot out of the wand and slammed into the roof. Euphemia almost jumped into the roof herself after that, but thankfully nothing else happened. Then there was another pop, and Ollivander reappeared.

"Everything to your liking?" He asked, whilst he placed another box on the table. Then, a leaf of parchment.

"Y-yes." Euphemia said, not trusting herself to say anything further.

"That is your wand holster." He said, pointing at the new box. "That is your Non-Standard Wand Core Cultural Exemption form. Don't lose it, or you might find yourself in trouble. Now, Ser Potter, I must truly be off for good. But I leave you with a parting question - what is the corpse of milk?" Ollivander said, then was gone with another pop. Euphemia gathered up all her stuff, but put her wand holster on. With her wand properly stowed, she waited for the professor to arrive; and thought about Ollivander's question.

Her thinking was interrupted by the professor after only a few minutes. The elderly woman walked into the shop, a shrunken trunk floating along beside her.

"Already wearing your wand, Miss Potter?" She asked, in what was probably a lighthearted voice for her.

"Yes professor!" Euphemia squeaked, still a little off balance after her experience with Ollivander.

"If only my students were still as excited as they were when they first got their wands in my classes. Let's get going Miss Potter, you have robe shopping to do.

Euphemia was being measured for her uniform in Madam Malkin's, and next to her was another Hogwarts student. The professor was waiting outside, talking to a turban wearing man Euphemia gathered was the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Next to her in the robe shop was another Hogwarts student to be.

"Hullo, Hogwarts too?" He said, his too-white teeth complementing his too-blonder hair.

"Yeah." Euphemia replied.

"Mother's off placing _another_ commission at Ollivander's, and father's looking at racing brooms. Do you have your own broom?" He asked.

"No, not yet." Euphemia said, and she remembered the ban on first years bringing brooms to Hogwarts. "Aren't First Years not allowed to have them at Hogwarts?" Euphemia asked.

"Well, the rules are more like guidelines for those from proper families. Speaking of families, where's yours?"

"They're dead." Euphemia said flatly.

"Oh. Well they were at least _our_ kind, weren't they? Witches and wizards?"

"Yes, they were both magical." Euphemia said, wondering what that had to do with anything; until she remembered what McGonagall had said about Voldemort's motives. Was that kind of thinking still acceptable in magical society?

"Good. The name's Malfoy, Draco malfoy by the way. They really shouldn't let the muggle-born riffraff into Hogwarts, lest they muddy the halls - don't you agree?" He said, and Euphemia frowned. Hadn't that what Voldemort's lot had been after? This Draco seemed like more and more an ass the longer Euphemia spent with him.

Euphemia struggled to reign in her emotions as the blonde-haired brat went on and on. She told herself that he wasn't worth it, that getting into trouble like this without even having stepped foot into Hogwarts would go badly for her. But she wanted to sock Draco Malfoy is his dumb mouth so bad.

"Well? Do you agree or not?" He asked, and Euphemia turned away and kept her fists by her side. He is not worth it. She relaxed, and felt the hairpin in her pocket. It's warmth comforted her, and as Draco fell silent she waited for her robes to be done. He seemed stunned that someone would simply ignore him, and Euphemia swore that Madam Malkin gave her a sly smile as finished her robes up.

With her robes magically animated into her trunk by the Professor, Euphemia almost skipped along Diagon Alley towards the Owl Emporium, which she understood had expanded since it's founding to sell far more than just Owls, as shops are wont to do.

Every manner of beast in every kind of storybook seemed to inhabit the shop, cawing and growling and roaring. What looked to be a miniature dragon coiled around a stone pillar, puffs of flame lazily making their way from the creature's mouth. Euphemia's eyes went wild at the sight of it, only to have the Professor shake her head.

"I'm afraid that only Owls, Rats and Toads are acceptable for Hogwarts students, Miss Potter. No matter how fetching you may find a Dragonnel, or that Rainbow-Crow over in the corner." She said, causing Euphemia's face to fall.

"Why, Professor?" She asked, her voice sad as she tore herself away from the almost hypnotic wings of the Rainbow-Crow.

"If it were up to me, or the Headmaster for that matter, then it would not be the case. But ever since the Ministry passed the Cultural Preservation Act, alternative means of practicing magic have been banned from schools without a cultural exemption form, like the one you have for your wand."

"Oh. That seems vaguely..."

"Prejudiced? Bigoted? I agree entirely Miss Potter. Still, you must choose."

In the end, she ended up purchasing a snowy owl that had caught her eye, and then proceeded to fly over to her.

After Euphemia had purchased her familiar, she and the Professor sat down to have lunch in the Leaky Cauldron. The food was hearty, stout and English to it's core. They talked about Euphemia mostly, and she enjoyed the rare chance to feel good about herself. All too soon, however, it was time for her to go home.

Wearily, Euphemia walked into Privet Drive beside the Professor, whose face had hardened into a steel mask. No one answered the door, nor even acknowledged her existence beyond a grunt or two, and a terse noise from Petunia at the sight of her familiar.

"With me, Miss Potter." The Professor said, leading Euphemia up the staircase and into Dudley's second bedroom. It had been stripped clean of broken old toys, and dusty books were piled in the corners. "You are to sleep in here from now on, dear. Take this, and break it should you ever be in need of help here." She continued, handing Euphemia a small piece of red glass with a number stencilled in white paint on the side.

"Okay, Professor. Thank you for taking me to get my school supplies and helping with the Dursleys and telling me about my parents." Euphemia said, and the Professor smiled sadly once more.

"It is the least I could do, Miss Potter. Now, I shall bid you farewell and look forward to meeting you in my class." She said, and walked down the stairs. Euphemia really looked at her room - her room - for the first time. She stood in awe. Her bed alone was larger than cupboard under the stairs, and there were so many books simply sitting unread.

Granted, many of them were rather childish, but then again they had been given as gifts to _Dudley_ , of all people. She spied a large, paperback tome in one of the piles and went to have a look. She blew the dust off the spine, and carefully removed it from the stack. On the front of the book, it said 'The Lord of the Rings, by JRR Tolkien'. She opened the book and began to read, revelling in simply being able to read for the joy of it. Soon enough she placed the book down, using an old receipt for a bookmark, and cracked open 'The Standard Book of Spells'.

She read late into the night, switching from book to book whenever it took her fancy. She practiced wand movements, stared at garish illustrations of dark creatures, and solemnly studied the safety sections of her potions book.

The next morning, she made breakfast and did her usual chores, only for Vernon to stop her when she went to go work on the garden.

"No girl, you've done enough chores today. That woman was very clear about that. Go and do whatever it is little freaks do with their spare time." He said, finishing with a grunt. Startled, Euphemia went back up into her room, picked up her wand and bag, and went outside into the street.

She would read late into the night again, but for now; in the daylight? There was exploring to be done, now that she knew magic was real. Surely, even in a place like Privet Drive, there was at least something or someone magical beside her and Septima?

It was near noon, and Euphemia sat on a park bench some distance from her home. The small park was secluded from the road by thickets of trees, and it was utterly deserted. That was, until Septima emerged from the hairpin a girl of about Euphemia's height.

"Right then! It's time you began your training, Ser Knight." She said, offering her hand to Euphemia.

"Are you going to teach me magic!?" She asked, excitedly.

"In time, dear child, in time. A more primal and raw form of magic to be sure, but magic all the same. However, our lessons today and for the foreseeable future shall cover a different topic." Septima said, her aristocratic voice soft and warm.

"Come on, don't tease me like this!' Euphemia whined, in good humour.

"Swordplay, and the other arts of hand to hand combat." Septima said, placing her hand over a tree. Two wooden swords emerged from it, sized for Euphemia's height. The fae tossed one towards Euphemia, who easily caught it. "Now, I shall teach you an art few mortals have ever learnt - and fewer still lived to use it!" Septima shouted, and then they began.

The days passed in that fashion, with Septima teaching Euphemia the art of the sword as it was understood by the Autumn Court of Old in the mornings and afternoons, whilst Euphemia studied her books and practiced magic under her bedsheets. The Dursleys mostly left her alone, content not to anger the Professor and to simply pretend that Euphemia didn't exist, most of the time.

Soon enough, it was time for her to head to London to catch the Hogwarts Express from Kings Cross Station. She, of course, had been informed of how to get onto the platform. When she told the Dursleys that she needed a lift to catch a train from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Vernon merely smiled, laughed, and said that he would drop her off at King's Cross.

It struck Euphemia that she had just played her Uncle like a fiddle.

She arrived at the station with her trunk, familiar, and a certain hairpin tucked into her pocket. She spotted half a dozen wizarding families and ten times that number of muggleborns as she walked through the station, and soon enough she came to the stretch of wall behind which hid a train station for witches and wizards.

Gathering her courage, she broke out into a run. Her eyes were wrenched shut as she collided with the barrier, only for her to go straight on through and into the other side. The platform was teeming with people, and half a dozen stranger beings acting as porters and cleaners.

"Is it okay if I sit in here?" Euphemia asked, as she gently pushed the door open. She'd found her trunk easy enough to lift; which seemed rather odd - but then she'd begun to get the impression that she'd been involved in some odd things, even for a witch, after she'd met Septima at that park. Hedwig, her owl she'd named out of a history book, hooted imperiously at her.

"Oh, of course. My name's Hermione Granger, and no one in my family's magic at all. What's your name?" The girl asked, carefully inserting a bookmark into the thick tome she was reading; and placing it down for the moment.

"Euphemia Potter." She replied, and Hermione's eyes went wide.

"Are you really? I've read all about you!" She said, obviously excited.

"Well, I'm not sure how accurate those books were. I only learnt about Voldemort when Professor McGonagall came to take me to Diagon Alley. My muggle relatives raised me, see." Euphemia replied, warily. She didn't want people to mob her with questions, and she was sure she hadn't really done anything to stop Voldemort. Hermione seemed to weigh up basic logic with her near-unquestioning belief in books; but logic won out.

"Oh... I guess that makes sense. Well let's not worry about that now - isn't it so exciting? We're going to learn magic! I've already read all my textbooks, of course, and practised a few simple spells. I don't want to be behind the other students from wizarding families, you see." Hermione said, and Euphemia felt a sudden sense of shared excitement. Then her mind caught the meaning of Hermione's words; and Euphemia felt like a total idiot.

"We were allowed to practice spells at home!?" Euphemia cried out. Hermione gave her a sympathetic look.

"N-nobody told me not to?" Hermione said weakly, paused, and then went on. "Why don't I show you what I've learnt after I got my letter." She said, and Euphemia smiled at her. The bushy-haired girl pulled out her wand, and the two of them passed the time attempting a few of the very first spells from _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One_. She now knew how to make small sparks shoot out of her wand and how to make it light up like a torch. Of course, just when she and her new friend had really started to enjoy themselves; a familiar face made himself known.

"I heard Euphemia Potter was on the train -" Malfoy began, then recognised Euphemia from the robe shop. "It was you, at Madam Malkin's?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes." Euphemia said tersely, not wanting to hear more of his aural dribble.

"Well, you never gave me an answer - don't you agree that they should chuck all the muggle born trash out or not?" Draco said, and Euphemia saw Hermione look at her with an expression of shock and hurt. Euphemia had let it go in the shop, because she didn't want to get in trouble before she'd even gotten to Hogwarts.

But she had a grand total of two friends, and Draco Malfoy had just made one of them think that she was... that she was like him! Euphemia stood, her expression dangerous. She walked up to Malfoy, and instinctively his two cronies - who looked like neanderthals in robes even at the age of eleven - stepped backwards.

"No, I don't. I don't believe that muggleborns are inferior, or that wizards should rule over muggles or whatever stupid, bigoted nonsense you believe in. IN CASE YOU DIDN'T NOTICE, PEOPLE WHO BELIEVED THAT KILLED MY PARENTS!" She shouted, and punched him. He squealed in pain, and the sound of school shoes rapidly hitting wood en masse could be heard as students rushed to get a look at the confrontation.

Euphemia knew that she shouldn't have punched him as the prefects started to make their way through the crowd. Malfoy was still on the ground, and blood had started to flow from his nose. His eyes glistened with tears, and he stared up at Euphemia with a stunned look on his face.

"Y-y-you hit me..." He muttered, as a boy with red hair and a prefect's badge finally made it onto the scene.

"Alright, everyone back to your compartments! Make way, make way!" He said as another prefect helped Malfoy to his feet. "Now what on Earth is going on here?" The red haired prefect asked, as Hermione continued to look slightly stunned.

"This crazed girl hit me after I simply tried to say he-" Malfoy began, only to have Hermione speak for the first time in the whole crisis.

"That's not true! You wanted Euphemia to agree with all your horrible beliefs about muggleborns! You said that you wanted us all kicked out!" Hermione said, tears in her eyes as she screamed at Malfoy and the prefect. She didn't seem quite aware of what she was doing, and when she stopped she seemed to realise that she'd just screamed at an authority figure.

"Is that true, Malfoy?" The other prefect asked, her voice cool as ice.

"I didn'-" He began, but the male prefect cut him off.

"There will be no talk of that kind tolerated at Hogwarts - understand?" He asked, and Malfoy nodded reluctantly. Then he turned to Euphemia. "And no matter the provocation, there's no reason to resort to muggle dueling! Both of you will get off with a warning this time, but if I ever catch either of you at this again it will be detention with Filch!" He said, and then people began to leave and Euphemia sank back down into her seat.

"I can't believe I screamed at a prefect, surely they'll kick us out and-" Hermione began, but Euphemia interrupted her.

"I only got a warning, and they told Malfoy right off for what he said. It'll be fine." She said, as she distracted her new friend with a question about what house she wanted to be in.

Her mind made up on the issue of houses - at least, set on avoiding whatever house Malfoy ended up in - Euphemia found the train ride over all too quickly. She hadn't managed to learn any new spells with Hermione after all the kerfuffle, but she'd learnt magic today! Real, actual spells!

Sure, all they did was shoot sparks and make her wand into a torch, but still - magic! Giddy with excitement, she and Hermione shrugged their robes over their uniforms*, and Euphemia made sure Hedwig was settled in her cage. The snowy owl pecked at her affectionately, and then they were off. Students in black and gray uniforms crowded the darkened platforms, splashes of House colours living them up, and a man half again as large as any she'd ever seen started to call out for the first years.

"Right now, all you first years come over 'er!" The huge man said, and the two girls made their way through the press of people on the platform. They saw other students their age with them, and they were led away from the general throng of people.

"I can't believe they have something like _that_ as a teacher." Said a girl with blonde ringlets to a familiar boy with platinum blonde hair. Euphemia felt a gentle hand on her arm from Hermione.

"Let's try and make it to the sorting, okay?" She said, and Euphemia sighed; then nodded. They'd soon reached the shore of a vast, black lake. Small boats without oars or any other visible means of propulsion sat waiting on the shoreline. What seemed to be a thousand lights were reflected in the distant surfaces of the lake, and Euphemia felt her anticipation grow.

"No more than four to ah boat." The large man said. Euphemia and Hermione were soon joined by a red haired boy and a somewhat heavyset brown haired girl, who was cradling a toad protectively. With a gesture from the large man's pink umbrella, the small fleet of boats began to glide across the lake of their own accord. Hermione began to speak, but even her insatiable drive to share her knowledge was silenced by what came into view.

A grand castle, illuminated by a thousand lit windows, stood there. It was simply _massive_ ; and Euphemia felt the magic in the air. The castle itself seemed to almost defy logic, towers jutting out this way and that, but there was an undeniable sense of warmth and joy to the place. Just as Euphemia began to take it all in, she felt the first droplets of rain land on her hair. Shocked from her reverie, she laughed quietly to herself - but didn't dare disturb the almost solemn silence that had descended over the entire fleet of first years.

And then they'd arrived at a stone dock, Professor McGonagall waiting there under the torchlight. The spell was broken, and chatter suddenly sprung to life around them; the moment passed and the first, tentative step taken.

"I'll take them from here, Hagrid." The Professor said, and the large wooden doors behind her swung open. All the first years made a quick advance towards dryness and warmth.

"Did your brothers really say we'd have to fight a troll to get in?" The other girl who'd ridden in the boat of with Euphemia and Hermoine asked the red head. They'd made it inside, and were waiting for everyone to eventually coalesce into something resembling order.

"Well, yeah, but they're pretty fond of practical jokes and stuff... I'm, uh, Ron Weasly by the way. This is Mary Longbottom." He said, and his eyes flickered towards Euphemia's scar.

"I'm not actually Euphemia Potter, you see, my mum was just a bit of a nutter and let loose with a cutting curse." Euphemia said, but Hermione gave her away with the slightest hint of a giggle. Soon the other two had joined her, and then Euphemia couldn't keep it up anymore and started to laugh. That was when the ghosts arrived, and the Professor came to explain to them about the sorting and the Houses. Then, utterly disabused of any notions about fighting trolls, the first years entered the great hall.

"You know, it's not actually open to the air - according to _Hogwarts, A History_ it's just enchanted to look like it." Hermione said, and Euphemia nodded. It certainly put her own sparks-making into perspective. The sorting hat began to sing - which really was just as remarkable a thing as the grand ceiling, when you thought about it. It wasn't the best lyricist, but it had sung hundreds of unique songs of the years; so Euphemia was inclined to give it a break. This year it sang about the houses, outlining their positive qualities and such.

A 'Abbott, Hannah' was sorted into Hufflepuff, and then the sorting was on in earnest.

Hermione Granger heard Professor McGonagall call out her name and nearly cried. She was sure she wasn't going to be in Gryffindor, like Euphemia was sure to be and then she'd be all alone and-

She sat down and felt the brim of the hat go over her eyes. Somehow, during her panicked state she'd managed to walk up to the stool and put the hat on.

 _"You know, you'd make the_ most _remarkable Slytherin_. _"_ A voice in Hermione's head said, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. _"But alas, ambitious you may be and cunning you might have in abundance, that's not what you want out of all this; is it?"_

 _"No"_ , Hermione thought _"I want to be brave like Euphemia."_

 _"And such a mind! Well, if you're certain, then it had better be_ GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouted out, and Hermione beamed. Both Ron and Mary joined her there, amongst others, and she suppressed a grimace as Malfoy became a Slytherin. Then it was Euphemia's turn, and Hermione shot her a supportive look.

Euphemia knew only two things about the sorting - that she most definitely didn't want to be in Slytherin with Malfoy and all the other blood-purists, and that she'd really rather prefer to be in the same house as her friend. The problem was that wanting to be with her friend was a rather Hufflepuff thing to be thinking, and she needed the hat to put her with Hermione. Thus, Euphemia hatched a cunning plan.

 _"Put me in Gryffindor or I'll set you on fire."_ Euphemia thought at the Hat.

 _"Well, that's certainly a novel strategy. It is a very Hufflepuff thing to want to do, and rather Slytherin of you to think of it - and oh my you really do mean it! Do send Septima my regards, Ser Knight; and enjoy_ GRYFFINDOR!" The Hat shouted out, leaving Euphemia feeling rather smug. Thousand year old magic hat: 0, Euphemia: 1.

She ran over to the Gryffindor table, her uniform changing in the blink of an eye as a solid wall of applause, chants ('WE GOT POTTER!'), and whoops smashed into her. Hermione had saved her a seat, and she settled into it. Septima's hairpin, which she'd worn on the train, gave her a sort of approving warmth. Then, after a few words of nonsense from the Headmaster, the food arrived. It was, in a word, delicious. Euphemia had certainly never tasted anything even approaching it before; and she dug into it with a gusto that outmatched even Ron Weasley's.

"Ah, now that we've all been fed and watered I must unfortunately take up more of your time. Firstly, it is my pleasure to introduce a new teacher to the school - Professor Quirinus Quirrell, who will be taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts after Professor Duncan's unfortunate demise. Those wishing to try out for their House Quidditch teams should contact their head of house or Madam Hooch. I have been asked by our caretaker, Mr. Filch, to inform our new students that magic is strictly prohibited in the corridors; and that the Forbidden Forest is, as one would imagine, forbidden to students. He also seemed to be of the opinion that a few of our older students could use a reminder of these rules." Two identical red headed boys stood up and waved at the Headmaster "Finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death. Now, a everyone pick a tune and join us in singing the school song!" Dumbledore finished, switching from grave seriousness to utter levity in an instant; leaving a good portion of the student body with mental whiplash.

Euphemia sang the conjured words to a slow, mournful tune and with a singing voice she didn't know she had. She sent a questioning thought the hairpin's way.

 _"Yes, Euphy, that was courtesy of me._ " Septima sent, and she knew the girl/hairpin/sword/fairy could feel her appreciation. She'd always wanted to be able to sing.

Then the feast was over, and in no time at all she was in her pajamas and ready to go to sleep in the biggest, softest bed she'd ever seen. Hermoine, a slight look of concern on her face, walked the short distance between their beds.

"A-a-re you my friend Euphemia? I've never had proper friend before, and I'm ever so nervous and I don't want to presume and I-" Hermione stammered out, catching Euphemia rather unprepared. She opened her mouth and began to answer...


	2. The Duelist

**Chapter Two: The Duelist**

"I've never had a proper friend before either, but I think we are." Euphemia said, and smiled. Hermione nodded, and went to bed. Euphemia lay awake talking to Septima for an hour or two, but then she was asleep. She dreamed of dark whispers and portents, of a terrible hissing coming from a purple turban. She remembered none of it when she woke early in the morning, and blearily made her way down to the common room. Students were crowding around the notice board, and excited whispers sounded like roars to Euphemia's tired ears.

"I can't believe they're lifting the age restriction on the dueling club!" Said one a second year boy to his friend, who nodded.

"Dueling club?" Euphemia asked. That sounded like something she'd be interested in.

"You know, wizard duels? But you had to be a third year to join it before, even though they always have first year brackets for the House tournaments." He said to her, then realised who she was.

"Woah, can't wait to see you out there!" His friend said, coming to the same realisation. Euphemia didn't know what to expect - it wasn't like she knew any spells that could be used in a duel, after all, but it really did sound interesting.

 _"I can help you with that."_ Septima thought at her, and Euphemia sent back the mental equivalent of a nod. Hermione found her through the press of people, and they started to walk down to the great hall for breakfast.

"Are you really going to join the dueling club?" Hermione asked.

"Well, think of it like DADA practical work..." Euphemia said, and her friend smiled.

"All the same, I think I'll stick to watching. Do you even know how to duel?" Hermione asked, and Euphemia cheerfully shook her head.

"Nope."

Their first class was Theory of Magic, which was taught only until third year. You had to maintain an 'E' (which was roughly equivalent to the muggle B grade) average in it to take Evocation and/or Thaumaturgy. Euphemia and Hermione found their seats, and were both buzzing with excitement at the thought of their first lesson at Hogwarts.

"Hello everyone! It's always a special thing, your very first class at Hogwarts - and I'm delighted to teach it. My name is Professor Shafiq, and I also teach Thaumaturgy to those who take it as an elective." He was a big man, with a large black beard and something of a gut. "Now, can anyone tell me what the difference between Informal and Formal magic is?" He asked, and Hermione's hand shot up into the air. "Miss...?" He asked, pointing at Hermione.

"Granger, sir. Formal Magic is done with a wand and has been described with Arithmancy. It draws upon external magic. Informal Magic has no standard incantation or foci; and requires an internal source of power." Hermione said. The lesson continued in much the same manner, with Professor Shafiq asking students questions and explaining what they didn't know. It wasn't _the_ most exciting class, but afterwards they had transfiguration and everyone was excited to do their first practical class.

They arrived to find Professor McGonagall absent, and a tabby cat sitting on her desk. Just as the last students piled into the classroom a few minutes late, the cat jumped off the desk and turned herself into their teacher. The class, even the Slytherins, started to applaud. They received a lecture against any misbehaviour, and then were allowed to try change matchsticks into needles.

Hermione had hers all silvery on the first try , and Euphemia had one the texture of metal soon after. She remembered what the Professor and her textbook had said - visualisation was the key to all aspects of transfiguration, more specifically the visualisation of change. First, she tried concentrating very hard on a needle as she did the spell, but she didn't do any better than the last time. Then, after a moment of insight, she visualised the matchstick changing into a needle; and there it was on her desk.

"Ooh, how'd you get it to work?" Hermoine asked, intrigued.

"You have to visualise the change itself." Euphemia said, and Hermione nodded. She pointed her wand at a matchstick and there was a needle. Hermione beamed, and Euphemia smiled back at her.

"Well done Miss Potter, Miss Granger. Five points each for your successful transfiguration." McGonagall said, and handed them some more matchsticks to keep practicing.

Euphemia stood in an empty classroom, three days after coming to Hogwarts. A bronze-haired girl her own age stood beside her, having finished lining up desks as targets.

"Are you excited for your first magic lesson from me, Euphy?" Asked Septima, who had drawn out a length of wood the size and shape of a wand from one of the desks; the same way she'd always made their practice swords.

"Of course I am!" Euphemia said, and fingered her Yew wand nervously.

"Well, you humans have learnt rather a lot since I was last around... I won't be able to teach you much Formal magic, but because you're my Knight there's a special kind of magic you can do." Septima said, twirling her imitation wand in her fingers.

"A special kind of magic?" Euphemia asked, her excitement somehow getting even larger.

"Autumn magic. We Faeries have our own magic, and since you're my Knight you can use it. You should be able to feel some sort of... different power." Septima said, and EUphemia nodded. "Good. Just push it out of your wand so we can see what you favour." Septima said, and Euphemia concentrated. She could feel that other power, unlike anything else, at the edges of her mind. She concentrated, and _pushed_.

With a tremendous crack, and thin bolt of orange lightning shot out of Euphemia's wand; and she went flying back. The classroom smelt of burnt ozone, and Septima smiled.

* * *

Euphemia, and what seemed like half the Gryffindor first years, made their way towards the first meeting of the dueling club. The other half seemed to have decided to watch, though they wouldn't arrive for a while, because traditionally grudge matches were settled on the first meeting. Euphemia had gathered that the dueling club generally consisted of learning or practicing a specific spell (which would now be split between 1st to 3rd years and 4th to 7th years), then practice matches. Students from the same year level were generally paired off at random, but students could challenge other students; and these matches happened on the competition platform.

"Welcome, welcome everyone. Now I know for many of you that this will be your first experience of dueling, and many of our first year students might not know any spells of use - not to worry, you should all be able to cast the marking jinx and be able to duel for points by the end of tonight. First through third years, over there. Fourth years and up, we'll be reviewing the stunning spell - come over to the cushioned area!" Professor Flitwick said, and older students began to herd the younger students; then began instructing them. The marking jinx only caused a slight glow on the target, but it was very easy to cast and useful for practicing things like dodging and aiming.

Euphemia soon had the jinx down, and had great fun avoiding Ron's own jinxes. It seemed quite easy to her, but eventually she had to relent and allow Ron to hit her so he could see if he could cast it properly or not.

"Blimey mate, you're pretty good at this. You thinking about entering the Halloween tournament?" He asked. Said tournament was one of three held during the school year, and won matches earned a not insignificant number of house points. It wasn't as a big a thing as the Quidditch Cup, or the Quidditch matches Hogwarts played against the other British schools, but all the same quite a few people turned out to watch it.

"Maybe, though I'll reckon I'd need more than a marking jinx to win a proper duel. You know Thomas Avery can already cast a stunning spell and shield charm, and he's just started third year?" Euphemia asked, and Ron nodded.

"Probably been taught a lot worse by his father." Ron said, and his expression soured.

"Why's that?" Euphemia asked.

"His dad was one of the Death Eater's - you-know-who's inner circle - who got off after the end of the war 'cause he claimed to have been mind controlled. My dad says that's not what happened, and to be careful of their kids 'cause they'll know dark magic." Ron said, conspiratorially. Euphemia nodded, and made a mental note to look up who had been tried and found innocent following the fall of Voldemort. She had a sneaking suspicion Malfoy's father would be on there.

"Ahem! It's time for the practice matches now, so if you have any challenges to declare, do so now, or pair off with a student from your year." Flitwick said, his voice magically amplified.

"I CHALLANGE POTTER!" Shouted Thomas Avery, a red-haired Slytherin student. Euphemia had heard of him by reputation, and felt something like fear. Not only did he have a vast advantage in terms of magical education, she'd just heard that he'd likely been tutored by one of Voldemort's inner circle. Could she even use her Autumn magic here? She mentally asked Septima about it.

 _"Yes, Euphy, it should be fine. They all expect you to excel, and those who could recognise it will probably know soon enough."_

"Really, Avery? Miss Potter has been here less than a week, and I can hardly condo-" Flitwick said, but a shouted voice interrupted him.

"I ACCEPT!" Euphemia shouted, and began walking towards the competition platform. The entire hall went silent. The students who were filtering into the stands, which were usually only used during tournaments, seemed to stop moving as one. Flitwick sighed, and walked up onto the platform.

"Very well, Miss Potter. You will bow to one another, draw your wands, then on the count of three the duel will begin. Is that _absolutely_ clear?" Flitwick asked both contestants.

"Yes, Professor." Euphemia said, and Avery nodded. They walked to the designated starting line, bowed, and settled into their starting positions - wands down but drawn - as Flitwick gave out a count. On three, they both exploded into action.

"Stupefy!" Shouted Avery, and a jet of red light came screaming out of his wand. Euphemia felt like the world was beginning to slow down around her, and she stepped around the spell with an almsot casual ease. She felt for her Autumn power, gathering it as she dodged another stunning spell.

Euphemia raised her wand, and somehow Avery _knew_ that she was about to attack with something more than a jelly-legs jinx. He cast a shield spell, shouting out the incantation just as Euphemia shouted out her own; a word in some language long since dead to mortal ears.

With a tremendous crack, a bolt of orange lightning shot out from her wand and slammed straight into Avery's shield charm, _and then kept on going_. It barely grazed him, but he was sent flying into the invisible walls of the platform; and a klaxon sounded - she'd won via ring-out; Euphemia assumed.

A cheer went up from most of the stands, and the students practicing. Hermione had actually stood up and started cheering, along with Mary Longbottom. Flitwick merely looked at her, aghast, then his senses returned to him and he rushed to Avery's side; and sighed in relief.

"Mr. Selwyn, help Mr. Avery to the hospital wing; if you would. Miss Potter, with me - everyone else, this meeting of the dueling club is now over!" Flitwick said, his voice still magically amplified, and Euphemia suppressed a gulp. She hadn't hurt Avery, had she? Septima had promised that the spell she'd taught Euphemia was safe enough. Silently, she followed the diminutive professor until they reached a truly ugly gargoyle.

"Am I in trouble, Professor? I didn't mean to hurt Avery, I re-" Euphemia began, panicking. She couldn't get kicked out of Hogwarts, she couldn't go back to the Dursleys!

"It was... irresponsible of you to use an Informal Reaping Curse during a practice bout; without at least clearing the spell with me beforehand." Flitwick said, his face still kind.

"S-so I'm not going to be kicked out?" Euphemia asked quietly.

"I don't think it likely, Miss Potter. Ice Mice" Flitwick said, and Euphemia was startled at the non-sequitur until the Gargoyle swung away from the wall to reveal a slowly rotating spiral staircase. The two of them ascended, until they entered the Headmaster's Office. Snape and McGonagall were already in there, along with the Headmaster.

"Ah, good that the two of you've joined us. Minerva, Severus and I were just having a little chat about the unfortunate incident at the Dueling Club." Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling.

"Potter put one of my students in the Hospital Wing with curse burns!" Snape shouted, not even looking at Euphemia.

"You know very well that they were nothing of the sort, Severus." McGonagall replied, her voice even and measured yet somehow dangerous.

"Filius, perhaps you'd care to offer your own opinion on the matter?" Dumbledore asked, lightly.

"It was an irresponsible bit of magic, but not catastrophically so. The spell Miss Potter used could hardly qualify as Dark magic." Flitwick said. Dumbledore nodded, and rose.

"Well then, I think what needs to be done is clear. Miss Potter will clear any further Informal magic she wishes to use in the dueling club with it's head, and twenty points will be deducted from Gryffindor. I believe we are done, then, though I would like a word with Miss Potter." Dumbledore said, and Euphemia took a seat as the the Professors left the room.

"Now, Miss Potter, do you have anything to tell me about _how_ you learnt that curse?" Dumbledore asked. His eyes twinkled, and Euphemia would have sworn she saw them flick to her hairpin for a fraction of a second.

"I suppose, so, professor, but you already knew, didn't you?" Euphemia said quietly. The world still seemed a little slow, but not nearly so much as it had during the duel.

"To be outfoxed by an eleven-year-old is a fate inevitable for any schoolteacher, I think. I mean no harm to your friend there, though the two of you did give me quite the scare," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling behind a pair of delicate half-moon glasses.

Septima emerged from the hairpin, wearing what seemed to be an exact copy of Euphemia's school uniform. Something about it was a little off - they were frayed and worn out looking, compared to Euphemia's new clothes.

"Headmaster," Septima said, bowing her head slightly as she did so.

"Lady. Though you are no quite one of those mentioned in the Deeper Mysteries, are you?"

"Well, I am the Lady of the Autumn Court. There's just not much of a court to be a lady of, at the moment, and so the mantle had barely enough power to let me nominate a Knight. Thus I remain a changeling maid cursed to be a hairpin, and not what you had first thought," Septima explained, and at the revelation, Euphemia felt hurt. Why had Septima not told her about this before? She'd been the Dursley's unpaid maid, effectively, and she wasn't going to look down on her friend for her menial origins.

"Most curious indeed. Though, Miss Potter, perhaps I can offer an explanation for your friend's silence on the matter of her nature? Often, it is hard for us to talk about things that trouble us, or that we are ashamed of. You yourself have not said much about your experiences with your guardians to your friends, have you not?" the Headmaster said, gently. Euphemia's angry words died in her throat, and she simply looked at Septima. She looked tired and afraid, and for the first time, Euphemia could see real sadness on her face.

"Y-y-you were cursed to be a hairpin?" she asked, instead of the angry demand she had been meaning to say.

"I, um, I didn't do something I was ordered to do, and the Autumn Knight at the time cursed me to be a hairpin. She wore me, I understand, almost every day after that. I only really started to be able to think again many centuries later, and I could only do what I do now after I became the Lady, as weak as the mantle had become."

"What didn't you do?" asked Euphemia, only for Septima to look at the Headmaster in concern and shame.

"Perhaps a conversation to have again when you're older, Miss Potter. Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me?" Dumbledore asked her, as Euphemia looked up at home nervously.

"Um, s-sir, how do you know what the, uh, Dursleys are like?" she asked. Perhaps he could read minds? Though that seemed rather rude. Or, as she somewhat sheepishly realised, perhaps Professor McGonnagal had told him. That was the sensible idea here.

"Ah, Miss Potter, this is a conversation I have been dreading. Septima, perhaps..." Dumbledore said, trailing off.

"No, I want her here!" Euphemia said forcefully, and Dumbledore nodded.

"To answer your question - Minerva told me, in a verbal dressing-down I rather deserved. You see, it was I that placed you with your Aunt's family after the death of your parents. All of your grandparents were dead, and the man your parents had wanted to look after you in the event of their death was as good as. In the aftermath of Voldemort's apparent death, there was still a great deal of danger to you from his followers - some of whom were men of great power and influence. Thus, I hid you behind an extremely strong magical protection that could only be created if you lived with a blood relative. The only living relative close enough to raise these wards was your Aunt," Dumbledore said, pausing for a moment. Euphemia took the opportunity to interrupt.

"Was I really in so much danger?" her hand found it's way into Septima's, and she gave Euphemia's hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Numerous attempts to locate you have been made by men I believe to be followers of Voldemort, who escaped Azkaban by means of either their own or their comrades' influence. I assigned an agent of mine, of sorts, to watch over you; but she could not tell what your Aunt and Uncle did in their home. As I'm sure you're aware, they went to quite an effort to appear normal. I must apologise for asking such a question, Euphemia, but did the Dursleys ever hit you or-" Dumbledore asked, very gently.

"Not like what you're asking about... I mean, they let Dudley beat me up and Aunt Petunia once took a swing at me with a frying pan..." Euphemia said, interrupting Dumbledore only to be interrupted in turn.

"I assure you, Euphemia, that both those actions are in the whole reprehensible. I shall be having a long overdue conversation with your guardians tomorrow. I think we have arrived at the natural endpoint of our conversation tonight, so I shall leave you two with a piece of advice - in a duel, it is advantageous to present Informal magic as if it could plausibly be obscure Formal magic. Thus, I would suggest a Latin dictionary, rather than Septima's knowledge of a language from the depths of the Nevernever might be a better place to look for names for your spells." Dumbledore said, pausing before picking up a slim hardcover book from his desk. "If you'd like something to take your mind off such heavy matters, I'm sure both you and Miss Granger would find this volume illuminating. I found it quite interesting as a schoolboy myself," Dumbledore continued, and Euphemia picked up the book and looked at it. It was _On Duelling_ by one T. H. Reeding. Somewhat confused but not wanting to appear rude, Euphemia took the book and thanked Dumbledore.

She was still confused by everything that had been talked about - though the thought of the Dursleys dealing with an angry Dumbledore was enough to bring a smile to her face.

Euphemia said goodbye, then held out her hand for Septima as they descended the revolving staircase. She still seemed quite shaken, and her robes looked even more threadbare.

"Why didn't you say what that awful knight wanted you to do?" Euphemia asked the changeling, as she helped her down the stairs.

"It really is something to talk about when you're older, Euphy," Septima said, a note of finality in her voice as she returned to the hairpin. Euphemia's walk back to the Gryffindor dormitories was silent and complentative. She really didn't know what to think about what Dumbledore and Septima had told her, and she suspected that she wouldn't until some time had passed.

It was a confused Girl-Who-Lived that returned to her dormitory and said a muted hello to Ron Weasley, who she'd talked to quite a bit at the duelling club. He was currently engaged in an intense staredown with an almost comically bigger boy over a chessboard but did give a grunt of acknowledgement. Euphemia found herself lying on her bed, looking at the almost too small to see runes on her wand when she heard someone enter the room.

Hermoine seemed to have rushed up the stairs - the first year girls had gotten terribly unlucky and drawn the highest of the seven girl's dormitories - but Euphemia was glad to see her all the same.

"Oh, Euphemia you had me so terribly worried. I was scared they were going to expel you or put you in detention or-" Hermoine raved.

"I did lose Gryffindor twenty points... but that's not why I'm up here. I had a conversation with the headmaster about my guardians. They're, um, not very nice," Euphemia said, and Hermoine nodded.

"I guessed as much. Are you alright? You look - well, not good," the bushy haired girl replied.

"I... don't know. Everything's just been so confusing, and I don't know what to do," Euphemia replied.

"Oh. I'm - well, I'm not sure I can help with that. How about you tell me about the spell you used in the duelling club - it looked very advanced," Hermoine said, wracking her brains for something, _anything_ to talk about.

"Oh, it was an informal Reaping Curse - you know, taking magical energy and making the spell itself stronger. But it shouldn't have gone through a properly cast _protego_. I just thought he was gonna use a blocking jinx on it or something," Euphemia said.

"Really? But isn't that at least fourth year - and probably fifth or sixth year - evocation?"

"Well, um, I think my wand was really, really suited towards it,"

"How so?" Hermoine asked.

"Well, Ollivander said it was suited towards endings or entropy or something,"

"What combinations of wood and core would cause that?" Hermoine wondered aloud, not really intending it as a question.

"Uh, yew and thestral hair (whatever those are). And it's thirteen inches long," Euphemia said before she'd realised what she was saying. She'd resolved to keep her wand a secret because even she could see that it would easily be taken as the wand of a dark wizard in training. Hermoine, however, only got a thoughtful look on her face at that.

"I, um, wasn't really asking you a question there, Euphemia. Now that you mention it, though, I thought I'd read something about wands with thestral hair cores somewhere. What's that book, by the way? Did you take a detour to the library to pick it up?" Hermoine asked.

"Oh, no. Dumbledore lent it to me, said he liked it when he was at Hogwart-" Euphemia said, but before she could finish she was interrupted by a screech of joy from Hermoine.

"Dumbledore himself lent you a book and we've been nattering on about wands! Don't you realise that he scored the highest score on the Defence against the Dark Arts OWL _ever_!?" Hermoine babbled.

"Okay, okay. Let's read the book. Does this mean you're going to give the duelling club a try?"

"Don't go getting ahead of yourself, young lady,"

* * *

Due to a variety of factors, most owing to arcane facets of scheduling, the Gryffindor first years had yet to have either a potions or flying lesson. The former was treated as something of a stay of execution by older students, who had told enough tales of Snape's misdeeds that even the ever-trustful-of-teachers Hermoine was begging to be convinced.

In their first potions lesson, Snape had berated, bullied, insulted and harassed every Gryffindor student in the dungeon. Every Gryffindor student except for two, sitting at one particular workbench somewhere in the middle of the right side of the room (for reasons of safety and mutual dislike, the Gryffindor and Slytherins sat solely on opposite sides of the room). Euphemia and Hermoine were baffled by this, because not only did Snape not unleash his trademark nastiness on them, he did not address a single word in their direction, save one. He didn't even read Euphemia's name off the roll, instead simply looking at her to check she was there - one of the few times he even looked at the pair the entire lesson.

When they went to hand in their potion, Snape spoke only to Hermoine. Looking at it, he muttered they'd received an 'O' for outstanding and waved them off.

None of the first years knew what was up with that, and Ron Weasley was even giving Euphemia suspicious looks.

"UP!" Euphemia shouted, and her broom soared into her hand. Her's was one of the only ones to do so, however. She perhaps thought that brooms were a little like horses and could sense nervousness, and was trying to coach Hermoine to get her broom to do more than roll around when called when she heard screaming. She turned to see Mary Longbottom loose control of her broom, flying upwards in a panic.

Madam Hooch, the flying instructor, was shouting for Mary to get back down - only for the poor girl to slip and fall of her broom. Even Euphemia and Hermoine hadn't started on the levitation charm yet, and without a wand already out Euphemia was the only one with a reaction time quick enough to do anything but watch as Mary smashed into the ground with a sickening thud.

"Just a broken wrist, everyone! You will all stay here and stay on the ground whilst I take Miss Longbottom to the Hospital Wing, or I'll have you out of here faster than you can say Quidditch!" Hooch ordered, her yellow, avian eyes adding no small amount of menace to her orders.

"Ha, guess the broom couldn't take the weight, eh?" Malfoy said, picking something up off the grass.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron said, stepping forward with a dangerous look in his eye, although the only piece of offensive magic he knew was the marking jinx.

"Ooh, like them a little heavy do you, Weasley?" jeered Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced Slytherin and Malfoy's equivalent of Piers Polkiss - the one who stood back and pelted their target with insults, instead of being large and ready to hit people.

"Better than pug-faced little-" Ron started, only for Malfoy to interrupt.

"What's this then? Longbottom's Gran gave her a remebrall, probably so she could remember the weight limit for flying classes," Malfoy said with a sneer, and Euphemia strode forwards, her wand forgotten.

"You'll give that here if you know what's good for you, Malfoy," Euphemia said.

"I don't think so, Potter. I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find it... up a tree, perhaps," and with that, Malfoy kicked off and ascended into the air.

Euphemia called her own broom to her hands, only for Hermoine to tug on her sleeve.

"You can't, Euphy, remember what Madam Hooch said? You'll get in trouble," Hermoine said under her breath.

"Too scared to come get it, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, playing with Mary's remembrall as he did so. Euphemia still had her broom in her hands, but she had a calculated look in her eye.

"How dumb do you think I am?" She replied, putting her broom down. She'd been about to go up and retrieve the glass ball herself, but Hermione's words had spurred Euphemia into a much better plan.

"What on earth are talking about?"

"Madam Hooch will be back at any minute, presumably whilst I'm up in the air chasing a remembrall? Wow, what a devious plan Malfoy. I would _never_ have seen through that," Euphemia replied, her sarcasm blunt and unmistakeable.

"Just because you're a mudblood loving-" and that was about as far as he got before shouts of outrage rose up from the Wizard-raised Gryffindors. Wands appeared in hands, and Euphemia felt quite confused - s he knew from context that whatever Malfoy had just said was abd, but this seemed an extreme reaction.

Before any jinxes could be thrown, Hooch arrived back on the scene looking positively furious. Her stride was determined, and her robes seemed to billow menacingly of their own accord.

"GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT BOY! And wands away, the lot of you!" she shouted, and Euphemia couldn't help but smirk. One thing she'd learnt from being Dudley's favourite target was that it was often smart to keep people talking - especially when they couldn't just beat you up when they got angry enough.

With a quick interjection from Hermione about _why_ he'd been up in the air, Hooch seemed to grow even angrier at Malfoy who, at this point, had shriveled up and looked like he was going to cry. Any pity she might have felt for him shriveled up as she remembered how awful he'd just been to Mary; who Euphemia thought unlikely to have ever said a mean word to anyone.

"That's a beautiful sight, that is," Ron said, walking up to Euphemia. They'd bonded at the dueling club, and found the time to talk to one another one and off again since then. The problem was, Euphemia thought, how her other friend got on with him.

"Honestly, you shouldn't look so smug about it!" Hermione said, the two of them arguing across Euphemia. Hermione and Ron just seemed to bring out the worst in each other, and Euphemia could never muster up the courage to intervene when they were like this. Instead, as Hooch dismissed them all, she retrieved Mary's remembrall and walked towards the hospital wing.

Her dorm mate was sitting up in bed, looking none the worse for wear beyond a sling. She smiled as she saw Euphemia enter the hospital wing.

"Hey, Mary - Draco picked your remembrall up and tried to bait us with it, but he got mad and messed it up. So now Hooch is gonna give him detention til he's a seventh year, and Flying ended early for today," Euphemia summarised, handing the glass ball back to Mary. The two of them talked for a little longer, in the small, quiet way that neither could quite find anywhere else.

* * *

Magic, it turned out, was hard. Even the simplest of formal spells required more than a vague wave of one's wand and some nonsense words. The movements and words had to be precise, because they were what lent the spell its power; what made it more than the simple manipulation of energies that characterised informal magic. Wizards left traces in the memory of magic, and any spell would etch itself into formality with enough repetition.

What all that meant, Euphemia thought, was that trying to learn the stunning spell (though it was technically a curse) as a first year was not a wise endeavour. Avery had been considered a rising star mainly on his ability to cast the spell at the start of his third year, and Euphemia was determined to show him up after their duel. She'd won, but rather than back down Avery had doubled down on harassing her.

Every meeting of the dueling club, Euphemia was challenged by an older student. None of them were older than Avery, but the gap between the first years and second years as a whole was enormous. The abilities her mantle granted her more than made up for it, but she knew that she couldn't publicly rely on that. Superhuman reflexes, speed, and strength went a long way in a duel, in roughly that order of importance, Euphemia thought - but she still needed to take down her opponents.

Unfortunately, punching your opponent was considered poor form.

John Hepburn stood across the competition stage to Euphemia. He was a tall, skinny Slytherin from Third Year. He was no Avery - there would be no shield charms or stunning spells here. Still, she couldn't underestimate him. That being said, she did have a new spell she wanted to try out. They bowed, and then the duel was on.

Spells flashed by Euphemia as she weaved between them. A jelly-legs jinx flew disturbingly close to Professor Flitwick, and Euphemia rolled under another barrage of spells. Hepburn was fast, and Euphemia was too busy dodging to fight back. She battered a few spells away with a blocking jinx; then she retaliated.

"Petrificus Totalus!" she shouted, a bolt of gray light flying from her wand and striking Hepburn in the chest. He fell to the floor, arms glued to his side. This was the spell she'd been looking for - one that would win her the fight if it landed. Mucking about with jinxes and hexes was popular, but she didn't see the point. If you could hit your opponent with a spell that would inflict the sort of humorous disadvantage most jinxes did, you could hit them with a body bind or stunner.

Euphemia stood near Septima, as the changeling Lady drew a fake wand from the wood of an aged desk. It was nearly an exact copy of Euphemia's own wand in shape, though not in colour.

"So my lovely minion, what's more important - the ability to attack, or the ability to defend?" Septima asked, tapping her fake wand against a chair.


End file.
